


Contention of Freedom

by LadyHallen



Series: One-Shots of Various Fandoms [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Animagus!Hermione, F/M, Firebird!Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-05-24 19:42:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6164446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyHallen/pseuds/LadyHallen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione liked her mountain. Hermione liked to fly. Hermione didn't like the ugly creatures making the pretty elven lady cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione was preening and arranging her feathers, admiring how the water reflected her feathers and the sunlight highlighted the gold lurking in her colors. She was beautiful and she knew it. (Ironically, she was more vain as a bird than she ever was as a human.)

Her lovely mountain home was cold enough that no human or any other sentient creature could bear it. The eagles occasionally passed by, giving her information, but the scream that rent the air was the first she had ever heard from other humans and it was a sound of distress.

With a warbling cry of curiosity, Hermione flew towards it, trusting the sunlight and the autumn leaves to camouflage her.

The sight sickened her and sent the righteous blood of a Phoenix roaring. With a shrill cry that made the wretched creatures cringe, Hermione plunged, talons out and raking across their eyes.

The fair elf that was tied held up her hands beseechingly and Hermione complied. Hermione’s talons could cut through boulders if she willed it and her beak could tear meat to shreds. Rope didn’t stand a chance against her and in another pass, Hermione dropped a sword by the womans foot.

After that, Hermione didn’t have to do anything. Perhaps there was a reason why they were careful enough not to let her near a weapon. She was ferocious with it.

Hermione crowed victoriously when the last of the foul things died. She warbled out a song, viciously pleased with herself. Life as a bird was really simpler. No boys, no school marks to worry about and no bullies.

But the fair maiden started to cry, big wretched sobs that wracked her body and making her drop her sword.

With a cheep of query, Hermione perched on the hilt, cocking her head curiously to the side.

“I’m alright, fiery one,” she said eventually, tears trailing down her face and making her look devastatingly beautiful. “These are tears of relief. I thought I would die in such a way.”

Hermione didn’t care about the rest. The woman was fine and wasn’t hurt anywhere else. Whistling a happy tune, Hermione preened again, showing herself off and allowing the woman to run soft fingers through her feathers.

“You certainly put things in perspective,” she remarked. “Alright, I’m alive. I shall have to find a way to get off the mountain. I do not think I can go through the path our dead fellows took me through.”

With a smug trill, Hermione flew a circuit around the woman once and lead her to a narrow path that only animals used. Hermione was the queen of her mountain and no one else knew it better than her.

The woman, while a good warrior and pretty fierce once the moment called for it, was pretty much a walking disaster. It was like she half-remembered how to take care of herself and almost ate poisoned berries the first time Hermione left her alone.

It took a while for Hermione to realize that she was going through shock. If birds could sigh, the phoenix would have. Instead, she just tugged the woman to a log and did the foraging herself. As a phoenix, she was a vegetarian, but it was a deeply hidden instinct to know how to hunt.

She dropped the rabbit by the woman’s log and alighted on her lap, a stern look in her eyes. Hermione really did not go through that entire trouble just to have her die via poisoned food. Or ill animals.

“You are such a worrier,” the woman laughed. “Yes, I will be fine. I… _will_ be fine.”

There, her eyes shone with conviction and fire. The same fire that had vanished once she let go of her sword. Hermione trilled in approval and nudged the rabbit closer. The woman gave another laugh and obliged.

“You remind me of my husband’s seneschal,” she said, mirth in her voice. “Lindel, the one with overwhelming common sense.”

The rabbit was skinned, eventually. And placed over a fire. All through the entire process, the woman kept up a steady stream of chatter. Her voice was lyrical but it did not hide the slight tremor in her voice.

She attempted to feed Hermione, but the moment the cooked meat wafted to Hermione’s very sensitive phoenix nose, she rose up with a distressed cry and alighted on a branch far enough that it wouldn’t burn.

“I’m sorry,” the woman cried, near hysterical. “Please don’t leave me! You don’t like meat? Thank you. I’ll eat it, but don’t leave me alone.”

Hermione crooned to reassure her that she was still there, but she didn’t go near. The scent of roasting rabbit was terrible.

“My name is Celebrian,” she said, significantly calmer after Hermione had gone flown to sit beside her. “What shall I call you, my beautiful friend?”

Hermione preens at the praise and spreads her wings to further cement the idea. It was as instinctive as anything, to be proud of her plumage.

“I shall call you _Anna_ , for you are a gift to me, dear one,” Celebrian whispered.

Hermione agreed with a high pitched trill. She sang a soothing lullaby that had everyone listening with their hearts hammering. Celebrian wept and Hermione rubbed her head on the elegant hands stroking her.

.

* * *

.

Somewhere along the way, Hermione ends up thinking of Celebrian as _her_ elf. And so, was very unhappy when there were suddenly more of them appearing, and then hugs coming out of nowhere, dislodging the phoenix from her perch on Celebrian’s shoulder.

With an offended screech, Hermione rose up and started pecking at the worst offenders, a pair of twins.

Swords started flashing and only Celebrian’s cry of, “ _Anna_ , do not harm them. They have been searching for me. _Anna_ , please. Calm down, dear one.”

Reluctantly and very slowly, eyes on the pair and a possessive beak slowly grooming Celebrian’s disheveled hair.

“You seem to have found a stalwart protector,” one of them muttered with a dry voice. “Though it is good to see you again, my love.”

Celebrian laughed, eyes lighting up like starlight. “Oh, my love. She found me. I do not know why or what sort of creature she is, but there is the magic of the Eldar flowing in her that told me she was not a creation of the Dark One.”

Celebrian turned to Hermione. “ _Anna_ , I am with friends now.”

With an indignant trill at the obvious dismissal, Hermione flew up and perched on a faraway boulder, watching the proceeding reuinion with suspicious eyes. She was a phoenix. Everything far was simply a matter of bending space and moving time.

If _her_ elf got harmed, not even the philosopher’s stone could save their lives.

.

* * *

.

Night fell, and Hermione returned to Celebrian’s side despite her dislike for the rest of the party. It helped that the rest of them were perfectly deferential and didn’t try to pull any feathers, or wise cracks.

She preened her elf’s hair and glared at anything that made her flinch. When she finally fell asleep in the arms of another elf – likely her mate – Hermione flew off and perched on a nearby tree. She dozed lightly, knowing what would happen.

When the nightmares started and Celebrian slept through it, tears seeping from her closed lids, Hermione started to sing. It was a phoenix’s song of Healing, a lament for things past. Unconsciously, Celebrian relaxed as her nightmares vanished.

Elrond, the name of her mate, looked right to Hermione’s perch and said, “Thank you, _Anna_.”

Hermione chirped in reply, though she didn’t do it for him.

.

* * *

.

They all moved out before dawn, and it helped that Celebrian was eager to go back home. It interested Hermione too, because she’d so far avoided any settlements, afraid of how they would receive such an obviously magical creature.

To help, Hermione allowed the flickering flame that rested just below her feathers to crest up, lighting the bird in eternal fire and showing the way. She sang as she went and some of the elves became familiar enough of her song that they harmonized. Hermione loved it.

When the sun finally shone on their party and her fire went unneeded, Hermione perched on the saddle of the best singer and did a duet with him, making Celebrian laugh.

“She’s such a willful bird, isn’t she?” One of the twins commented. “Exactly like someone we know.”

The other twin snorted. “They will get along famously,” he said.

They were, of course, talking about the younger sister named Arwen. Hermione didn’t know it at that time and eyed both of them beadily, suspiciously. Then the best singer, Lindel, preened Hermione’s feathers and she forgot about both of them in favor of crooning and melting in a bundle of feathery fluff.

By mid-afternoon, Hermione was fast friends with Lindel, though she occasionally flew off to check on her elf. Celebrian always assured Hermione that she was fine and had offered a handful of berries and nuts. Hermione always ate some and preened her elf’s hair before going back to the seneschal.

It was then that she felt an unsettling wave of wretchedly disgusting darkness approach and she screeched her distress. All of the elves’s hands flew to their weapons in a hurry, instinct prodding them to react. It was just in time for the first warg to breach the tree line and to head their way.

It was chaotic and filled with angry ringing of claws and steel. Hermione dived occasionally and clawed across faces, pecking out eyes and trying not to wretch at the taste. She liked the twins then, whirling forces of chaos and steel. It was beautiful.

And then her elf cried out in distress.

Hermione looked to her elf and saw her surrounded. The Wrath of a Phoenix rose up in her, anger and dislike of these creatures flaring out of her, the flames bathing everything. The ugly, tainted creatures ran away, stumbling in their fear and not understanding why. The Wrath slowly died down and she hurried to her weeping elf, crooning out encouragements and soothing chirps, preening her hair and making her calm down.

Her mate approached and Hermione shifted one wing to accommodate their embrace since it had a better effect on her elf than any of her attempts at comforting ever did.

“Berries?” one of the twins asked. “We’ve got some.”

She huffed before haughtily picking at the offerings, ignoring their awed smiles. Her beak, which had caused such damage, barely even grazed their skin. Hermione was careful like that; she wasn’t plebian enough to hurt innocents.

“Let’s move,” her mate announced. “We cannot tarry here; the carcasses will attract more fell things.”

Hermione settled on her elf’s saddle for the duration of the flight, singing a soothing song. If Lindel sang, she didn’t hear, so focused was she in listening for Celebrian’s distressed soul. It eased, little by little. When nightfall came, Hermione was satisfied enough of her elf’s state that she left, hunting for more food. Using those abilities always came at a price – even the healing song. She was _starving_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prompt was: Is Phoenix! Hermione going to meet Galadriel ?

Galadriel meets Anna the Phoenix a week after The Incident. It took a day for her to hear the news and three more days to move from Lothlorien with all of her entourage. This was perhaps the fastest she had ever moved but this was for her daughter, her dearest Celebrian, and for once, Celeborn wasn’t telling her to stay Lothlorien to keep it and herself safe.

The Phoenix, spots their party coming in first and cries warning. It isn’t the harsh, shrill cry of alarm but of curiosity. The twins, who had memorized the little nuances of her cry, realized what it meant.

“Someone’s coming, not hostile,” Elladan said to the rest.

Hermione perches on the pommel of the saddle delicately, not even startling the horse. Lindir strokes her feathers and she preens, fanning heated feathers.

When Galadriel’s party is finally seen, what stops them in amazement is that Lindir is actually on a horse.

“My word,” Haldir says, not at all subtle. “Is that the seneschal of Lord Elrond on a horse?”

Lindir’s face is of dry amusement. “Not at all willingly, I assure you. The madam bird does not wish to stay inside all day but does not allow anyone else to touch her. I have become her caretaker.”

Hermione ruffles her feathers indignantly over that. Because no, she was a Phoenix, the lightest, the immortal and the always-burning flame. She did not need a caretaker.

“I think the lady does not agree with that assessment,” Galadriel of Lothlorien says in her musical voice, catching Hermione’s attention. “She is a proud one.”

Hermione trills her agreement and flies over, flapping her tail feathers on Lindir’s face and causing a wave of hastily muffled snickers. No matter his lack of skill on a horse, Lindir was perfectly capable of ruining your life. (He ran the entirety of Elrond’s household, enough said.)

She hovers over Galadriel’s horse, going eye level and feels satisfied. The Lady had a soul as sweet and nice as her pretty lady elf. She alighted on the pommel without trouble and sang for her.

Galadriel blushed, a delicate flush that stole across her cheeks and made her glow. “What a beautiful song. Thank you.”

The rest of their entourage passed with the Lady singing and Hermione’s phoenix trills winding round and around, making a few elves sniff delicately.

As the crested the bridge towards Rivendell, the sun descended. Hermione had never shown anyone this, but she had discovered it by accident. The brilliantly kind lady elf deserved to see it.

So with a piercing cry that caught everyone’s attention, Hermione spiralled up the treeline, catching the last rays of the sun. At the apex, she flared her wings and allowed the fire inside her to burn. She descended, glowing bright but not on fire at all.

The twins whistled as one.

“Show-off,” Lindir murmured quietly, but not quietly enough for Hermione’s Phoenix ears. She turned to him sharply and sat on his head, her weight heavy enough to make his neck ache. “Gah!”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: Phoenix!hermonie getting swallowed whole by Smaug and Smaug then finding out the very horrible mistake he just made. As Hermoine Phoenix fire's her way out.

This was a mistake, is Smaug’s first thought after he swallowed the irritatingly cheerful bird.

In hindsight, no normal bird could set themselves on fire and sing about it. He couldn’t help it though. It was noisy,  _bright_ and it  _sang_. It sang about the pretty sunrise, the pretty elves and the fire of eternity. It didn’t surprise him that he ate it, what surprised him was that he didn’t set it on fire. (Which was moot, since the bird set itself on fire first!)

Smaug was impulsive, he knew that. His dam and his sire had tried to beat that bad habit out of him, but that didn’t work so well, given that he knew most of his bad habits came from them in the first place.

This though, he regretted very much.

The bird was some sort of Valar-sent creature, the very flames hidden inside its feathers burning him as it went its way down his throat and stomach.

It  _hurt,_ which was a novel feeling all on its own if it didn’t make him double over and gasp in agony. It hurt worst than that damned Black arrow. That one was a pinprick in comparison. This feeling felt like a  _cleansing._

Smaug roared, venting out his feelings, before collapsing on his hoard of treasure with a sound very much like a whine.

Regret, Smaug sighed. ‘If I survive this,’ he thought. ‘I will mind my temper.’

Then he lost consciousness.

..

When Smaug opened his eyes next, it surprised him since he thought that he would never open his eyes again. The bird brought him such pain that he didn’t think he would ever survive it.

Then, as he started getting his bearings back, a cheerful chirp brought back his headache with a vengeance.

There, sitting on his snout, was that bloody bird, looking pristine, untouched and  _singing_.

He couldn’t help it - he roared at it.

The bloody bird flew out of range before coming back, setting itself on his back and then - 

“Are you preening me!” he roared out. “I am not a bird, or a hatchling. Do not preen me, you loathsome creature! I am not even your species!”

The bird gave him such a chiding look that left Smaug speechless. Mostly in indignation.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also available at [tumblr](http://ladyhallen.tumblr.com) for any worldbuilding questions and prompts.


End file.
